Enduring Love

by Bonnie Leon

  Hannah’s responsiveness and emotions merged with his. She couldn’t think. All she knew is that she couldn’t say good night to John at the door. She needed him.

  He pushed the door closed, lifted her into his arms, and moved to the bedroom. Hannah clung to him, beyond thought.

  He set her gently on the bed and dropped down beside her. “I love you,” he whispered, covering her mouth with his.

  Hannah lay in the crook of John’s arm, feeling as if she were wrapped within a haven of love. He kissed her forehead and caressed her hair. “I love you. I can’t stop.”

  She snuggled closer. “I love you too.”

  Quietness covered them in a mantle of peace. Minutes passed, and Hannah slowly emerged from the warm cocoon. She didn’t want to surface, to face the real world, and tried to remain, but something dragged her toward the truth. What have I done? I’ve lain with a man who isn’t my husband.

  “I want to move back in,” John said. “We belong together.” Reality hit Hannah like a fist. She pushed herself upright, pulling the sheet about her. “No!” Clinging to the sheet, she left the bed. “We can’t.” She stepped back. “What have we done?” She picked up her clothing and started to dress.

  “We’ve done nothing wrong. You’re my wife. I’m your husband.”

  “No . . . John, you’re not.” The truth engulfed Hannah. “I’m not . . . I’m not your wife. Margaret is.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I have to leave. I can’t stay here. We can’t live this close anymore.”

  “Hannah.” John pulled on his trousers and moved toward her. “I want us to be together. We belong together.”

  Buttoning the top of her dress, she moved toward the front door. “I have to go.”

  He gaped at her. “In the middle of the night?”

  “We knew this time was coming. I should have left the day we talked to Reverend Taylor. This is my fault.”

  “Nothing is your fault. We’ve done no wrong here.”

  “That’s not true and you know it.” Hannah hurried to the door and opened it.

  “Hannah. No. If anyone leaves it will be me. I built this house for you.”

  “John, this is your farm. Not mine.”

  He stared at her, his eyes filled with disbelief. “No. I’ll go. I can stay with David and Lydia. They’ve room.”

  “And what will become of this place?”

  “I’ll work here every day and then stay with David and Lydia at night.”

  Hannah fumbled through her mind. Could it work?

  He moved toward her. “Please, Hannah, let’s not do this.”

  Her hands clutching the collar of her dress, Hannah said, “John, you have a wife . . . and it’s not me. It’s Margaret.” She opened the door wider. “Leave now.”

  Thomas appeared on the top steps. “What’s wrong?” His eyes moved from his mother to his father.

  “Nothing, Son. Go back to bed.” John moved to Hannah. “Can’t we talk about this more civilly in the light of day?”

  Hannah closed her eyes. “I can’t have you here. Either you go or I do.”

  John dropped his arms to his sides. “All right.”

  Thomas climbed down the steps and followed his father onto the porch. “Where are you going?”

  “To town.”

  “No! You can’t! You said we were going fishing tomorrow.” John rested a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “We can still fish.”

  “What about the boar hunt?”

  “We’ll go.” John knelt in front of his son. “I’m still your father.” He glanced at Hannah. “I’ll never stop being your father . . . no matter what.” He pulled the boy into his arms and held him tightly. Then, smoothing the crying lad’s hair, he stood.

  Hannah could barely look at him, but she needed to be strong, and so she met his steady gaze. Inwardly she winced at the hurt and loss she saw in his eyes, but she managed to hold his stare without flinching.

  “I’ll be at David and Lydia’s.” He moved down the steps and walked toward the barn.

  6

  Hannah smoothed the quilt and fluffed the pillows. She stared at the bed, feeling empty inside. When she’d married John, she’d never imagined he’d be torn from her, not like this.

  Death would be better. Hannah quickly stifled the thought, ashamed she’d entertained it for even a moment. She wanted John to live, in fact she wanted him to have a joyous life, but the idea of his being with someone else was almost more than she could bear.

  She picked up his pillow and squeezed it against her chest; she could still smell his scent. Oh, Lord, how will I survive without him?

  He’d been staying with David and Lydia, and each day he made the trip from town to the station. Hannah found herself waiting for his arrival. Even though they spoke rarely and their occasional conversations were stilted, his presence on the station made her feel less alone. Margaret was never mentioned, and Hannah didn’t know if John was spending time with her or not. Lydia hadn’t said a thing about his first wife, and Hannah couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  Lord, give me the strength to release him . . . if that be your will. He deserves happiness. Bless him in all ways, and if Margaret is to be part of his life, then I pray they will find contentment together.

  Hannah fumbled through the prayer and wiped away tears. Above all, she desired God’s will, no matter how great the pain. Her mind wandered to the description of Jesus’ prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. In anguish he’d laid down his life, relinquishing his will to God. He was her example.

  But I’m not Christ. I’m not strong. Hannah returned the pillow to its place, wishing her mum were still alive. She needed her now.

  Her mind played over tender memories and dreams she and John had once shared. Now she needed dreams of her own, but when she tried to envision life without John, it was as if she’d gone blind—she could see nothing, only an endless black void.

  The ache inside resonated, building until it felt as if it would engulf her. What would become of her and Thomas?

  She tried to turn her thoughts away from despair and to think only on what the Lord had done for her. Her mind carried her to the story of Ruth and Naomi. Naomi had lost her husband and her two sons. She’d become bitter, and yet she saw God as almighty and her reverence for him never faded. If only I could have such faith.

  Hannah looked about the room, and her gaze came to rest on the armoire. John’s things were gone. Her gaze moved to the bureau. His drawers were empty. It wasn’t right that he’d gone and she’d stayed. The farm belonged to him.

  Hannah knew she would leave . . . eventually, but to where? The only place she knew was the Athertons’. Certainly they’d take her in, but she hated to place a burden on them. They’d already done so much for her. Perhaps they need a housemaid.

  “Mum! Mum!” Thomas shouted from outside. His footsteps thumped up the front stairs and across the porch; the door swung open. “The pigs are out! They’re in the potatoes!”

  Hannah rushed to the door and looked out at the garden patch. The sow and her half-grown piglets were knee-deep in the soil, tearing into the winter crop. “Dear Lord!” She grabbed the broom off the porch and hurried down the steps. “Get a bucket of grain! Quickly now!”

  While Thomas sprinted toward the barn, she ran to the garden, hollering and swinging the broom. The piglets squealed and darted away from her, but soon found new ground for foraging. A young boar seemed the most intent on getting his share. The sow lifted her head and stared at Hannah, a potato vine hanging from her mouth. She didn’t seem to be the least disturbed and returned to her feast.

  Hannah rammed the broom into the ground. What was she to do? The sow burrowed her nose into the soil and pulled up a cluster of young potatoes. “Let go of that!” Hannah shouted, trudging through the patch. She waved the broom at the huge pig, who simply snorted and moved a few steps away while munching on her prize. The piglets, their tails wagging, followed her. The boar kept munching and stared at Hannah. He’d bee
n known to have a foul temper, and Hannah hated the thought of going up against him, young as he was.

  Carrying a bucket, Thomas raced toward his mum. “Here’s the grain.” He handed her the pail.

  “Find a stick while I see if I can tempt them.” She moved toward the closest piglet, shaking the container and talking sweetly. “Come on now. Wouldn’t you like some grain? It’s much better than potatoes.” The piglet pranced away. Hannah scooped out a handful and held it toward the animal. “Give it a try, eh.” He paid no mind and instead snuffled the ground searching for more tender vines and young potatoes.

  Hannah straightened, discouraged. How was she going to get the beasts back into the pen? She studied the sow. If she could get her interested in the grain, the rest would follow. “Eh, mama, I’ve got a tasty tidbit for you.” She moved slowly, holding out a handful. “Just have a taste, now. I know you like it.”

  Thomas moved to the other side of the sow, holding his stick toward the bulky animal.

  “Wait there.” Hannah gingerly stepped closer to the pig, hand extended. Her dirty snout wriggling back and forth, she sniffed the air. She peered at Hannah through small eyes, then took a step toward her.

  “That’s right. Come on.” Hannah moved backward. The sow followed, but then an uprooted batch of potatoes distracted her. She pulled them into her mouth and happily chomped on them.

  If Hannah didn’t do something quickly, her entire winter crop was in jeopardy. “Oh please, do come,” she said, shaking the bucket. The sow grunted but didn’t look up from her garden-fresh meal.

  Hannah wanted to bash her with the broom, but instead she straightened and looked about, hoping to find someone who might be of help. John hadn’t shown up yet, and Quincy had ridden out early. She wanted to sit down right where she was and cry. Why did life have to be so difficult? She gazed up at a blue sky splotched with dollops of white. “Lord, I need help,” she prayed, and then decided a different tactic was needed.

  “Thomas, did you notice if the gate was open to the pen?” “No.”

  “Well, go and have a look. If it’s not, make sure to open it. And check the rest of the pen to make sure there’s no way for these beasts to escape once we get them inside. When you come back, bring a sturdier branch. We’ll have to force them.”

  “The boar’s already bad tempered,” Thomas said.

  “I know. He may think he’s a threat, but he’s only half grown and no match for the two of us.” She managed to send Thomas a smile, then turned back and glared at the animals who were destroying her garden. “Hurry, Thomas. Go.” The lad raced to the pigpen while Hannah stood guard over a portion of the garden that hadn’t yet been touched.

  After managing makeshift repairs on the pen and making a quick search for a sturdier branch, Thomas hurried back with a stick in each hand. “The gate was closed, but part of the fence had been knocked down. I blocked it off, though, good enough to hold em ’til Dad can fix it.”

  “Good.” Hannah studied the animals. They stood in a close bunch. “I’m afraid we’ll have to whack them solidly to make them move. You stand in the back, and I’ll take care of the sow. If I can get her moving, her piglets will follow.”

  Thomas immediately moved toward the swine. “Get out of ’ere. Now, I say.” His voice was as big as he could make it. He struck one piglet soundly on the hindquarters. With a squeal, it trotted away.

  Hannah moved up behind the sow and tapped her, but the animal barely looked up. “All right, then.” She hauled back on the broom and swung it down hard across the animal’s rump. With a squall, the sow lumbered off. Now all the pigs were agitated and moving.

  “Get around on the other side of them. Don’t let them get by you.”

  Thomas quickly moved to the outer edge of the mob, holding both branches out away from his body to steer them. The young boar charged toward him.

  “Thomas, watch out for him.”

  He smacked the small pig across its side. Instead of producing obedience from the animal, it turned on Thomas. With a fierce grunt, he rushed him and bit into his calf.

  Thomas didn’t call out or even act as if he’d been hurt. Instead, he yelled, “Get on with ye! Go on!” He hit the animal across the back and then the side of its face, forcing him to turn away. The boar trotted toward its siblings.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It was just a nip.” He smiled as he followed the sow and her litter away from the garden.

  Once they were clear of the potato patch, the pigs seemed more than happy to trot back to their pen. Hannah and Thomas herded them through the opening and pushed the gate closed. Leaning on it, Hannah glared at the animals. “We should butcher the lot of you.” As if understanding her intent, the young boar looked at her and squealed his displeasure. Hannah moved to the broken section of fencing and checked Thomas’s temporary repair, adding one extra board for bracing. “I suppose that will do for now.”

  With a shake of her head, she started back toward the house, Thomas beside her. Stopping at the garden plot, they studied the carnage. A good deal of the crop had been lost.

  “They did a job on it, eh,” Thomas said.

  “That they did. But we’ll manage.” Hannah rested a hand on his shoulder. “You did fine.”

  He swiped blond hair off his forehead and grinned. “It was a bit of excitement, wasn’t it?”

  “It was, indeed.” She moved toward the house. “We’d best have a look at your leg.”

  When they reached the porch, Hannah dipped a cup of water from a barrel and sat beside Thomas on the top step. They both drank from the cup, and then she went back and refilled it, handing it to Thomas before going inside for soap, a washcloth, and bandages.

  When she returned, she sat beside him. “Let me see how bad it is.”

  “Ah, it’s all right.”

  “That may be, but we don’t need it getting festered. Give me your leg.”

  Thomas pulled up his torn trouser and peered at the bleeding wound, then rested the leg on Hannah’s lap.

  She examined the gash. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not much.”

  “It’s not too bad. If that little rogue had been much bigger, he could have given you a serious bite.” After dipping the cloth into the water, she soaped it and gently cleaned the wound. “I’ll have to get this dirt off. It might hurt a bit.”

  “It won’t hurt me.” Thomas winced as Hannah probed. “I say he needs to be the first one butchered.”

  “And he shall be. We’ve no need of another boar.” She looked at Thomas. “I’m sorry about this. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “It’s all right. Just wish Dad were ’ere.” Silence settled between the two. “Don’t ye think he ought to move back?”

  Heaviness pressed down on Hannah. Thomas was too young to understand. “It’s not a good idea right now.” Her voice trembled.

  Thomas rested a hand on his mother’s arm. “It’ll be all right, Mum. Dad’ll make it right.”

  If only he could. Hannah wound a bandage around the gash. “I hate Margaret.” Thomas scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You don’t even know her.”

  “Don’t have to. She’s not decent. Can’t be. If she were, she wouldn’t do this to us.”

  Hannah had wondered about that, but she dare not voice her qualms. It would only make Thomas’s doubts stronger. “I understand why you’re angry, but what if she sees us as the ones who’ve hurt her?” Hannah tied off the bandage. “After all, she was married to your father before he met me.”

  “But that was when he lived in London . . . and he didn’t know ye then. If he would ’ave, he would’ve married ye instead of her.”

  Hannah smoothed the bandage. “Better?”

  Thomas nodded and stood. “I’ll talk to him, make him understand.” He threw an arm over Hannah’s shoulders. “He’ll come back. I know he will. He loves us.”

  “Of course he does, very much. But this isn’t about
how much your father loves us.”

  Hannah wasn’t ready to talk with Thomas about any of this, especially not about their eventual move. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. “Thomas, your father can’t stay here while I’m living in the house. It’s not respectable.”

  “But he’s yer husband.”

  “You’ve got to get that idea out of your head. We’re not married.” The statement felt like a punch to her stomach. We’re not married. We never were.

  “It’ll work out . . . somehow,” Thomas insisted.

  “Things will work out, but not likely the way we want them to.”

  “Why not? Can’t God make it happen?”

  “God’s ways are not always our ways, Son.” She took his hand. “We’ll have to move on . . .”

  “Ye mean leave ’ere?”

  “Yes. The farm belongs to your father.”

  Shock registered on Thomas’s face. “Where would we go?” “I don’t know for certain. Maybe the Athertons’ to begin with. They might have a position for me there.”

  “But what ’bout Dad? We can’t leave him.”

  The idea of Thomas staying behind hurt deeply, as if a barb were piercing Hannah’s heart. I must let him choose. “Of course you can stay here with your father if you like. You don’t have to come with me.”

  “No. It’s not right.” He moved down the first step. “I won’t leave and neither will ye.” He stomped down the stairway. “The two of ye’ll be together again. I know it.”

  Hannah had no energy left to convince him of the truth, so she let his statement stand. The day would come when she could no longer avoid the inevitable, but not today.

  Dust kicked into the air, and Hannah saw a rider coming. It was John. He cantered up the drive, stopping in front of the house. “You look done in. Is everything all right?”

  “Ye should ’ave been ’ere,” Thomas said, accusation in his voice.

  “Why? What’s happened?” He dismounted, keeping hold of the reins.

  “The pigs . . . they broke out of the pen.” Hannah moved the soap into her other hand. “Thomas and I managed to get them back inside.”